


A Lesson Learned in Time

by Lunamionny



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Goodbyes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22778044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunamionny/pseuds/Lunamionny
Summary: It's the summer after his sixth year and, when Dean is summoned to the Ministry for a trial to 'prove' his magical status, he decides it's time to run. But before he does, there's someone he has to say goodbye to.
Relationships: Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas
Comments: 20
Kudos: 94
Collections: Love Fest 2020





	A Lesson Learned in Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArielSakura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArielSakura/gifts).



> For ArielSakura - I hope you like this little bit of bitter-sweet Deanmus.  
> Written for LoveFest2020.  
> Huge thanks to Frumpologist for her awesome beta help!

_‘Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road / Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go / So make the best of this test and don't ask why / It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time’_ \- Good Riddance, Green Day. 

Dean comes to a stop just outside the boundaries of the Finnigan’s protective wards and grunts in relief as he slings his heavy backpack to the ground. He didn’t Apparate here. Ever since the Ministry fell into Voldemort’s hands three weeks ago, Apparition was being tracked, as was Floo’ing. So he arrived by Muggle means - a train from Liverpool Street station, then two buses, then on foot. Still, he knows it’s dangerous, doing this, that he shouldn’t be here, in the middle of a wizarding suburb. He should have headed straight for the countryside and hidden himself in the depths of English forests. 

But the Finnigans’ house tugged at him as if it were pulling a string attached to his heart. It’s Seamus’ uncle’s house, and Dean knows that Seamus always stays here during the last week of August. He won’t get another chance to see him.

Dean looks up at the 1930s semi-detached house; he’s visited it before, a few times. He scoops up a pebble and launches it at the window of Seamus’ bedroom. It clatters politely against the glass before falling futilely to the floor. Dean waits. Nothing. 

He tries again. Then again. Eventually, a light blinks on in Seamus’ bedroom and he sees the silhouette of someone at the window; hears the creaking as they open the glass and glimpses Seamus’ head as he peers out into the night.

Dean waves but doesn’t call out. It’s probably best to make as little noise as possible. He sees Seamus look in his direction before his head retreats back into his bedroom and the window shuts. Moments later, Dean hears the back door open and close, and the scrunch of gravel as someone walks down the garden path towards him. 

A tightness clenches at Dean’s heart as he sees Seamus step into view and stop a metre or so from him. 

The night is mild and Seamus is wearing just a pair of jeans and a _Green Day_ t-shirt. Dean introduced him to Muggle indie music in their third year and they went to their first ‘proper’ gig in Camden in the summer before their fourth - _Oasis_ , before the band had become so big they were selling out concert venues the size of football stadiums. 

Dean will always remember that gig - it had been the first time he and Seamus kissed, in a stall in the men’s toilets. It had been drunken and messy; the floor had been sticky and the air had smelt of stale beer, but the kiss had been beautiful. It had taken days for Seamus to admit he could remember what happened. Then weeks for him to admit he wanted to do it again. But Dean had waited, as patient and hopeful as ever. 

They look at each other silently for a long moment. Seamus surveys the stuffed backpack at Dean’s feet.

“You’re running,” he concludes flatly, looking at Dean with such a piercing intensity, it causes his heart to stutter. 

Dean nods. “I’ve got no choice, Shay,” he says regretfully. “I got my summons from the Ministry - for my trial. To _prove_ I’m a real wizard and didn’t _steal_ my magic.” The words come out bitter but resigned. “And I’m pretty sure it won’t go well. Being mates with Harry...and Umbridge still hasn’t forgotten Dumbledore’s Army-” 

His words are abruptly silenced by Seamus crushing his lips onto his in an urgent kiss. Dean responds of course; the action is so natural now. Their tongues slide deep into each other’s mouths and Dean moans around the kiss as he feels Seamus’ hand fist in his hair; the pull of it sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through him.

Seamus starts to pull away from the kiss, but Dean won’t let him. He cups his hand around the nape of Seamus’ neck, pushing their lips back together again. An awful mix of desire and despair ripples through Dean. He’s been avoiding thinking about when - if - he will see Seamus again after tonight, but now it’s near-impossible to keep those thoughts at bay. 

Finally, the kiss ends, but they don’t move away from each other. Seamus rests his forehead against Dean’s, their lips a hairsbreadth from each other’s. 

“I’ll come with you,” Seamus whispers determinedly, his breath warm on Dean’s mouth. 

Hope soars in Dean’s heart at the idea of being on the run with Seamus - but his rational mind quickly dismisses it. He gently strokes his fingers through his best friend's hair. 

“Don’t be stupid. You're a half-blood. You have to go to Hogwarts this year. There’s no point making yourself a fugitive - then we’d both be in the shit -”

“But -” Seamus starts, and Dean quickly silences his protests. 

“Go to Hogwarts. I know it’s not going to be a picnic this year, but he doesn't like magical blood being spilt. If you keep your head down, it’s probably one of the safest places you can be.” 

Seamus chuckles quietly - it’s a sound Dean loves - and pulls back from him, giving him a conspiratorial grin. “Keep my head down?” 

Dean smiles. “As much as you possibly can, yeah,” he replies wryly. 

Seamus scoffs gently and Dean has to admit that the idea of Seamus 'keeping his head down’ and staying out of trouble is pretty incredulous. Seamus eyes Dean’s backpack again. “Bet you’ve packed your sketchbook, haven't you?” 

Dean grins. “A small one. That reminds me -” He bends down, rifles through his bag and finally pulls out a folded piece of thick paper. “This is for you.” 

Seamus takes it and unfolds it. On it is a drawing that Dean did last year, just before the end of term, of Seamus sitting under a willow tree by the Great Lake. 

“This is - this is great. Thanks. But -” Seamus hesitates, a frown creasing his forehead. “I don’t want a picture of me. I want a picture of _you_ , you eejit.” 

“Oh. Well...you know I don’t like doing self-portraits but hang on.” Again, Dean rifles through his bag, pulls out another piece of thick paper and unfolds it, showing it to Seamus. It’s a watercolour painting of the two of them, based on a photo Colin Creevey took at the end of their fifth year. Their arms are slung around each other’s shoulders and they’re laughing at a long-forgotten joke. 

Seamus’ lips turn down as he looks at it, his eyes suddenly serious. “I’ve not seen this one before,” he says softly. 

“No...well...I don’t think I got your eyes quite right in it so never really...thought much of it -” 

“It’s good,” Seamus interrupts, looking from the painting to Dean and back again. “Really fecking good. _Your_ eyes are spot on, and I’m only gonna be looking at you.” 

Dean’s stomach twists and he scrambles about in his mind, trying to catch hold of words that can accurately articulate his feelings. But before he manages it, someone calls Seamus’ name from the house. 

“Shit,” Seamus states quietly. “I better go…” 

Dean nods and, as Seamus pockets his painting, Dean reluctantly pulls his backpack onto his shoulders. The two stand for a moment, looking at each other, the air between them heavy and fragile with a thousand unspoken words. 

“Don’t get fecking caught,” Seamus eventually says. 

Dean smiles ruefully. “I’ll try not to.” 

Seamus nods; it seems they both know that it’s the best response that Dean can give. 

Dean leans forward for one last time and presses his lips to Seamus’ in a gentle kiss, trying not to think about how long it could be until he’ll be able to do it again. Reluctantly, he pulls away and takes a step back. 

“I’ll - I’ll see you,” he says, his throat suddenly dry and his voice raspy. 

Seamus gives a curt nod. “See you.” 

There are more words that Dean can say, but he bites them back, knowing it will make it so much harder for both of them if he voices them. Instead, as he watches Seamus turn and walk slowly up the path to his back door, he says them silently to himself in his head, so at least his mind can bear witness to them: 

_I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Your thoughts and comments are cherished and treasured.


End file.
